


rakshasa

by courante



Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Codependency, Emotional Vore, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Murder? in THIS fandom? It's more likely than you think!, Psychic Bond, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courante/pseuds/courante
Summary: Brett and Eddy go hunting. They proceed to catch feelings instead.He would take Brett's hands then and press them to his face, hands so warm and well-cared for, calluses and all. And then he would say,Just for tonight, I'll be your calamity, forever and ever, and Brett would know it's true.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	rakshasa

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags before proceeding! this fic is what happens when you consume too much bfu and get extra-strength brainworms (and no, before anyone asks, it's not a hannibal au.)
> 
> if you're b&e or someone who knows them PLEASE don't look further i'm begging you goodbye

But when you fall in love with a person because your monsters have found a home in them—that's the kind of love that owns your skin and bones.  
\- C. Joybell C.

*

It was a Friday afternoon; they were at home because it was raining like hell out there, typical monsoon weather. Brett was checking some emails, scrolling through the spam, the usual.

Eddy was on the couch, upside down, and that really ought to have tipped him off earlier. “Hey Brett.”

“What.”

Thunder flashed outside momentarily, throwing broken white streaks across the dark sky. Brett blinked and turned towards his partner, finally.

It was then that his traitorous stomach made an awful, definitive noise of hunger. Eddy smiled at him, a little indulgently, a little wolfishly. “Let's go out tonight.”

They hadn’t moved to Singapore to escape anything, no—well, not _really_. You could do content creating from any corner of the world, but it was easier setting up shop here than most other places. It was high time for them to spread their wings beyond home, anyhow. It was just harder to do some things here, but that was part of the game.

—Like this.

They were at some nameless club in Rochor, and it’s so loud Brett almost just wanted to turn tail and go home. It’s not as if he didn’t like being there—he did, he’s missed going out and dancing the night away—but the reality of the matter was that his senses got wonky whenever he’s hungry. Everything was too bright or too shrill, too _much_ , even if the core of the issue was easy to dispense with.

Brett just never liked getting his hands dirty. They were meant for the violin, and for Eddy.

—Who, coincidentally, was getting way too into it over on the other side of the room, without Brett, and that left him a little put out by it all. Even if it were better that they didn’t get distracted by each other.

_Don’t worry about me, hey._

_I’m not worried about you, idiot._

He wanted to roll his eyes—Eddy was far from his shy teenaged self now, but he could still be a handful. Still, as the night dragged on and the lights got dimmer and the music sultrier, Brett found himself grinding dispassionately against just another warm body in the dark, the overpowering scent of flesh making his head spin. Surely it was nearing midnight, and that was always when he had to fuck off elsewhere for the pangs to subside.

Eddy didn’t have that problem. He was human, all of him, and that somehow only made things worse. 

Brett had been seventeen when Eddy walked in on him and the body behind the building where they used to attend maths tutoring together. It had been an accident, of course; he’s usually more careful than to do this in public, but it had been nearly six months since his last feeding. Bubble tea could only subsist one for so long, and he was a growing boy with an appetite.

The reaction from Eddy was immediate: he’d turned around and thrown up in the bushes. Brett, for his part, had a million excuses running through his head that did nothing for the very real knowledge that he could leave no witnesses behind paralyzing him from moving towards his best friend. _He’ll try to run away, and then I’ll have to— I’ll have to—_

“Eddy I— I can explain—”

_No, you dumbass, what’s there left to explain?_

“Oh my god, I didn’t think—” Eddy paused, looking back at Brett: there was blood dripping down his chin, and all of his meticulous cleaning otherwise couldn’t hide the fact that there was still a bulging garbage bag sitting next to him with a skinny, visibly human leg sticking out. Even under the cover of night, surely that would be enough to scare anyone away, send them running screaming down the street. But what Brett saw on Eddy’s face, beneath the understandable mix of fear and repulsion, was fascination. “I didn’t think I’d be right.”

_I found one._

Eddy was here, ostensibly, to make sure Brett didn’t get caught, or get totally wasted, but of course that was only half the reason. The guy Brett was dancing against made a weird moaning sound and he pushed away, annoyed. There was really only so much pressing against another human could do for his hunger, and none of the partygoers he’d come into contact so far had been up to standards. All too nice, or too bland, falling way too quickly for his sweet-talking so far unmarred by alcohol. Just normal young people out here to have a fun time. It would be a pity to take that away from them too soon.

He didn’t really care deep down, either way, but Eddy would. And so, he went with that.

_Okay, where?_

_Back door, come quick._

He pushed past throngs of sweaty bodies: the skimpily-dressed, the bored DDs, the leering expats. Brett wondered who it would be this time, though he supposed it would soon cease to matter, once it was taken care of. 

There was something exciting in the air forming, nothing to do with the beat of the music or the milling of the people. Something akin to them being onstage, the adrenaline rush that came part and parcel with their performances. Of course, _nothing_ beat the feeling of them playing together, but it was the synchronicity, the togetherness, the realization that everything was falling into place. 

Brett never used to get excited for these hunts; they were just a means of survival, to keep himself from the brink. Even felt bad about it, from time to time. But Eddy made everything better, even if he never realized that was what he was doing all along.

They huddled together at the bus stop, shoulder to shoulder, just two kids waiting to get home from the rain. Shame, slow in coming from the earlier excitement, burned at Brett’s cheeks fiercely now. He didn’t want Eddy to be afraid of him, and the thought consumed him more than anything else in that moment. Any moment now he’d bolt, grab Brett’s hand and haul him into the police station, and Brett wouldn’t even know to run. 

“You’re… not turning me in?”

“Of course not,” Eddy said, almost snapped, turning towards him with those damned puppy eyes, like Brett’s the one who caught _him_ doing something untowards. They’d just finished dumping the remains in the river and Brett’s hands were still shaking, and Eddy’s voice was still wavering despite his reassurance. He reached out and grabbed Brett’s right hand, startling him. “Hey Brett?”

And then, quietly, “Whatever you are, you’re still my best friend, okay?”

Eddy was standing near the row of potted plants, here in a deserted stretch of the hallway. The club was a part of a larger complex that was mostly empty at this time of the night, the storefronts on the main walkway shuttered and the guards elsewhere. There was some guy slumped on the floor next to him, clearly out cold. Tall, dark haired, absolutely needing the both of them to carry. Eddy’s button-up was missing a few of those buttons now, exposing his collarbone and freckles speckled across his upper chest and—Brett forced himself to look at the floor.

“What’s this asshole done?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Eddy was grinning at him with the smugness of a cat that’d just dropped a dead rat in front of its owner, like he’s still trying to win Brett’s approval after all these years, and _fuck_ ; he still fell for it, every time. They hauled the man upright together, away from the myriad security cameras, out the door, into the never-ending monsoon season. 

It had been raining that day too, Brett recalled, the beat of the club still echoing in his head.

Eddy was the kind of guy who was into spreadsheets, among other things. _Such a nerd,_ Brett would complain at him, out loud or in his head, always cautiously fond. That was how he’d found out.

“Do you have to eat people?” Eddy asked, between the second and third movement of the Saint-Saëns they were both practicing. Conversationally, like he’s asking about the weather, or if Brett had remembered to bring his Pokemon trading cards over (he forgot.) “Do you get dizzy if you don’t? Or like...”

He was going to ask _that_ question, Brett knew. He’d always known this day would come, whether they were together or—no. It had to happen face-to-face. 

“Nothing happens,” he lied. “I just… hospital. You know.”

The morgues were always full. It’s not a lie; it’s happened before, but Eddy didn’t need to know that. It didn't fill him up like the living do. But really, who was Brett kidding—Eddy was too smart, too into the little details, and his eyes were gleaming with something that Brett’s senses would register much later as complete captivation.

Between his studies and lessons and competitions and practice it was almost absurd that Eddy had found the time to track the news and police radio (god knows how he’d hacked in) and managed to connect the dots about the places Brett frequented after school and noted disappearances. It was kind of scary, in hindsight. The little clues he’d probably picked up that Brett hadn’t even noticed he’d been leaving behind. And it was almost infuriating, when he realized Eddy would wholeheartedly believe he was capable of this. But.

_He doesn’t need to know that much._

Brett kept playing, gliding from one phrase to the next; and Eddy kept watching, as if picking apart the movement of his muscles, the contours of his frame, if it was any different from humans walking the street outside. Brett would hit a wrong note halfway through the cadenza, maybe, and Eddy would point it out, and he’d laugh and say something self-deprecating and they’d continue on as normal. 

Like everything was fine. Like Eddy had never walked in on him and seen sharp teeth and sinew, seen hands that could break him apart with ease, and walked away unscathed with full knowledge that there was absolutely nothing Brett could do about it.

There was red on the floor and Brett thought to himself quietly that Eddy would not have made a very good doctor after all. Quietly, because Eddy was already doing an awful lot of the noise making in the bathroom right now. 

This was why he stopped drinking on these particular nights out, more or less.

Brett didn’t want to move from the tarp, not when he’s full and the ceiling is a hazy collection of moving dots on white and he couldn’t think straight, but the AC was on full blast to minimize any possibility of decay—not that there was very much left. It was cold. Someone’s gotta clean, though, and Eddy wasn’t about to help with that part of the equation.

He was almost done mopping the floor when Eddy came out, eyes slightly wild like he’s on some shit; Brett frowned and put down the mop. They didn’t have drugs in the house (they were in the Land of No Drugs Allowed, after all), but… “Are you alright?”

Eddy looked up at him, lips slightly parted. There was still blood on his collar; they’d have to toss that tomorrow. He looked a little drunk, even if he wasn’t, and there was no denying that the sight of him like that right after a feast was jumbling up Brett’s heart rate and sending signals he wasn’t sure would manifest in other moments of his existence. Brett’s not a biology major, after all.

Just as well. Eddy walked over to him then, with awkward long strides of someone who’d been contemplating on but never got the chance to enact their plan, until now. Brett did not move, did not pick up the mop again as he looked up into those usually gentle brown eyes. They were not gentle then, and for all Brett felt like an animal sometimes in the streets outside he did not know what to make of it.

“What?” he repeated again, in a whisper. He was acutely aware that a smell of fear hung about the living room: residual, but also not.

It was—not good for his sanity.

“I want you to have me,” Eddy said, looking down. Then he leaned in and kissed Brett, blood and all, a hard kiss that scraped teeth and bone. 

(“Do you know anything about demons?” Jordon asked him one day, in the library. Eddy was there scouting locations for an upcoming video, and he wasn’t quite sure why Jordon was there. But that was his thing, kinda, hanging around the library and distracting people from what they were supposed to be doing.

Eddy didn’t know where Brett was that day, but he had an inkling, a premonition. A weird kind of _thing_ that he’d started developing even before that day in the rain, kind of like how he honed his perfect pitch. It wasn’t a good feeling, but he said nothing as Jordon came up to stand next to him.

“No,” Eddy replied. “Uh, is this for Halloween?”

Jordon had a book in his hand, about folk music; esoteric Buddhist sutras, things etched in mythology, the like. He was always reading about things like that, for inspiration perhaps, whatever genius composers do. Now, he just shrugged noncommittally, and Eddy took it from him with a quirk of his eyebrows.

“Just thought you might find this interesting,” he said. “You know.”

But as always, as with all warnings of that sort, Eddy ignored them in favor of what he wanted to see. And he memorized them, all in all, each name each thing, even if none of them fit, in the end.)

Brett was on his bed, and Eddy was on top of him.

“Why do you help me?” Brett asked. The words had scarce left his mouth before he thought, _oh_ , he had never asked this before. 

(It became a routine, after the first time. He wouldn’t have to say anything; Eddy would come over to his house or sidle up to him after orchestra rehearsals and ask him, surreptitiously, if he wanted to go grab a bite. Every six months or so, like clockwork. 

Brett had said no at first, of course, after the initial shock had worn off. It was the last thing he wanted another person to get involved in, much less his best friend

_partner-in-crime? Something more?_

who was— who had too much in front of him. Eddy was going to be a doctor, make his parents proud, and Brett was about to graduate, anyway, and it was— 

Eddy had insisted _no mate, I’m helping you, it’d be easier that way, wouldn’t it? I’ll keep a lookout for you_ with that _look_ in his eyes and Brett had been unable to refuse him, after that.)

He wasn’t about to refuse this, either. 

“I didn’t turn you in the first time,” Eddy said, stubbornly. His eyes were unfocused in the dark, but he was looking at Brett all the same. “Best friends stick together, yeah?”

_Is that what we are?_

“This situation doesn’t exactly scream _best friend_ to me, you know.”

Sometimes Brett wished he could read Eddy’s mind for real, but it would probably not be a pleasant thing. Whatever resonance they’d developed for hunting was a different thing altogether; it was not meant for the bedroom, or even when they play violin together. That was another kind of mind-reading, reserved for the stage, the camera, the—

"What do you mean?”

_Stop lying to yourself._

There was something hopeful in those eyes then, eyes that Brett had seen brimming full of tears before: after their kickstarter, during their first tour, one night after that awful outing in Copenhagen where he’d had too much to drink and tripped over a bike lane. But never during hunts, and never during whatever happened after. Brett did not watch the news, and he’d long since stopped shedding tears for bodies that simply end up in the incinerator at midnight. That was not his function. He never dared asked Eddy about his end of things, if he cried over dry bones when Brett was out. Maybe he didn’t have the right to know that. 

The stirring in the pit of his stomach was fainter now, different, but all too present as he reached up hesitantly to touch Eddy’s face. Traced his cheekbones with a finger, the sharp dip of his jawline, and came to a stop at his lips. They were wet, though Brett could see in the dark that it was more tears now than saliva. He was shaking too, Brett realized belatedly, but also completely still.

_He’s in love with you_ , Brett’s mind helpfully supplied then, dispassionately at first, then fearful, then strangely content. _He’s in love with a monster._

_And so are you._

“If that's what you really want,” he said, finally, eleven years later, “I’ll do it.”

Eddy was standing at his doorway watching him pack. He should be home, studying, practicing, whatever. His eyes followed everything Brett did; he didn’t need superhuman senses to know that. He just surveyed his room for one last time, tidying up the socks that had fallen to the floor. Then looked up, keeping his face straight as he rolled his eyes lightly at Eddy’s concern.

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

That particular feeling did not come often to Brett, but when it did, it came in strong. A storm surging beneath the mask. _It was wrong._ It was wrong for him to have allowed himself to get so close to someone else, so much so that it hurt to leave when it should have been the best decision. If they’d just been normal friends, if he’d been more careful, if Eddy had never walked in on him that day…

“I’ll miss you.” 

His ears burned, listening to the words beneath that: _I wish I was going with you. I wish, I wish…_

“I mean, I’ll be back for breaks and stuff. It’s just on the other side of the city.”

Brett would go off to university and do what he’d always wanted to do, music. He would feel hungry every now and then, and that was inevitable, but he could live with it. He knew about Eddy’s dreams too, and the two parts of him pulled at each other, wanting, rejecting, receiving, pushing away. It was so close to home, and yet.

“Yeah, that’s true.” A pause, longer than it needed to be. “Hey, a hug before you go?”

He could feel Eddy’s pulse, quickening as the distance between them closed until Eddy was standing right behind him. Reached out, even, to touch him on the shoulder like he always did. Envelope him into a hug with his too-long limbs, a warm place where Brett could hear the beat inside Eddy’s chest so clearly that he could almost just reach in and pull it out, his whole heart.

_Nobody ever needs to know._

“Thanks,” Brett said against his neck, keeping his voice even. He would never have perfect pitch, but he could hear Eddy’s heart sing all the same.

_That’s the thing about monsters. They look like you, talk like you, wear human skin like it’s meant to be theirs._

_And from time to time, they make you think:_ maybe I want to be one, too.

“They all look like me,” Eddy murmured into his bare shoulder, breath hitching slightly as he leaned in, fingers digging firmly into Brett’s thighs. At night, everything hurt less, and he was grateful for it. “Every one of them we pick out. You think I haven’t noticed, Brett?”

Everything and nothing was tender about this situation; he had always wanted this, for as long as he could remember. Something inevitable. Brett always got his way, in the end, but this was not the end yet.

It was two in the morning and the currents had carried him far out to sea, rhythmic motions of the waves, uninterrupted if not for his voice catching every now and then, a low humming reverberating throughout the night. He wanted to wonder, wanted to think, but none of that could transpire when Eddy was doing _this_ , fingers wrapped firmly around his cock, gently rubbing, then with mounting pressure.

_I know everything about you, except for this._

“Touché,” Brett replied, out loud. And then a gasp, but he felt Eddy wince under his grasp around the arms. No crack of bone, yet it scared him, for a moment. “Eddy, I—I don’t know what’ll happen. What if I—”

“You won’t hurt me,” Eddy breathed, a little ragged, but assuredly. Brett could see very well in the dark—though he didn’t need glasses _now_ anyway, didn’t even’t need to see to know what Eddy was doing, reaching, sliding, taking hold. His body was on the verge of eternity and that was all he knew for a white hot moment, but there was no release, not yet. 

_You won’t hurt me yet, but you will._

“You’re not an incubus,” he continued, breath hot against Brett’s ear. “Otherwise, mm—” 

“Otherwise— _fuck_ , you’d be dead already.”

“I know.” A laugh, indulgent, then genuine concern. “Are you— should I go slower—”

“No keep— keep guessing.” It would do to pass the time, if Eddy wanted to play this game. Brett didn’t want to think; didn’t want to think about the taste of iron on his lips or the shudder of skin. Didn’t want to close his eyes and imagine Eddy’s taste, shoulders and joints, liver and bone marrow. Didn’t want to understand what this all meant, that they’d been playing cat and mouse under the same roof for so many months now; that he’d become complacent, maybe, ignoring the burning raving maddening part of him that _craved_. “You know I’ll be— fine.”

Fine was a strong word. He ached all over as Eddy recited, as if for a lesson: every name, every monster, every reminder in that voice that melted away whatever self-loathing he'd stored inside him, even if for a moment. Such a strange dance of giving in to one another, concession after concession, over the years. Eddy wasn’t crying anymore, and his words continued in a steady if uneven stream as they shifted in place. He was thrusting gently, so reverently, in a way that Brett had never experienced before, or ever thought himself worthy of receiving. It would almost be insulting were it anyone else.

“Not a vampire, but—” Eddy dropped his voice all of a sudden, and it sent tremors down the back of Brett’s spine as he leaned in again, slowly, surely, a hand on his abdomen. “But I’ll still invite… invite you in. You’d like that, right? Brett, I—”

Digging deeper, deeper. The last syllable hung in the air for a moment, an invitation, and of course he could not keep it in any longer. Of course, of course—

_I love you, I want you, I want, I want—_

_I want to be devoured, bone and all. I want to swim in the contours of your lips and drown there, for eternity. I want to see you, all of you, the you that roams the night, the you with sharp fangs and sharper claws. I’ll be yours, forever and ever, even if that means I would scatter in the wind upon your touch._

When they came together he sank into Eddy’s embrace, tooth and nail, everything raw called forth. Brett heard him call out in pain, incoherency further marred by the brazen storm outside: the wind, he thought faintly, had it always been like this? The storm crescendoed as they did, flinging its being wildly through each high-rise building, seeking shelter from itself, wailing, growling, insistent in its recklessness. Burrowing under skin, bursting through each vein, he found what he was looking for.

Brett did not care anymore if anything had shattered, for there was sweet flesh beneath his tongue and liquid gold coursing through him, faintly rust-tasting, reminding him of home. Home—yes, that was it. That was Eddy.

_You will hurt me, but I will be ready._

_Take me, all of me, and bring me back to you._

That night they were entangled together, one and forever, sinking into the storm, and Brett thought as his consciousness faded: _I’ve got my hands dirty again._

The rain had stopped by the time morning came. Brett woke up to his ribs feeling like they’ve all cracked open in the night, and he groaned when he smelled the unmistakable scent of blood, intermixed with cleaning products. It was too close to him, so yesterday—

The bed was his and there were faintly pink splotches on an otherwise empty space next to him. Brett sat up and kicked off the covers, alarmed, and listened to the sounds of the house: there was a twittering of birds outside on the balcony, and nothing.

His thoughts were replaced seemingly with white-noise buzz. Brett was supposed to be the one good at remembering things, but now, but then… he dragged his sore body out of bed, feeling the cracks all over him heal over slowly, slowly. He felt good, even, standing in his room and surveying the tornado-swept mess they had made last night. It had felt good, and he remembered falling asleep with Eddy by his side, who had after they fucked surely just fallen asleep next to him…

But Eddy wasn’t home. There was blood caked beneath his fingernails and in the gum between his teeth and Eddy wasn’t home.

Brett’s phone beeped, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

_Hey i’m fine just letting you know_

_Getting it cleaned up at the hospital. said i got mauled by a dog lol_

And then, moments later:

_Took out the trash already too, no need to thank me ;)_

“Bastard,” he muttered under his breath with a sigh of relief more than anything, even as guilt seeped into his voice. _Mauled by a dog._ At least it wasn’t—Brett didn't let himself finish the thought. If it made him smile, he did not let himself think about that either, for now.

He went to shower in the now-spotless bathroom. Came out and dried his hair as the sun rose sharply over the sky, and everything seemed clearer: his footsteps, the smell of bacon frying on the pan, his heart beating at the normal rate, again.

_Nice of you to do that for me_ , he texted back, deleting everything else written before.

Brett picked up his violin, his hands maybe a little sore but beautiful and so, so fallible. There was nothing to do now but to practice, because he sure as hell got none of his forty hours in yesterday. And wait, for Eddy to come home.


End file.
